


Prologue: Mamori

by DerpyMcButtface



Series: Continue: Yes/No [1]
Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Post-Canon, everyone has kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 05:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2376434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DerpyMcButtface/pseuds/DerpyMcButtface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Post-canon, after college graduation.) </p><p>As Mamori continues on with her life and helps her friends with theirs, Hiruma prepares to leave Japan, for good this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prologue: Mamori

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the prologues to a bigger story, but I wanted to build it up first.

Prologue 1: Mamori

 

Mamori had always half-suspected that college would be the last time anyone would see Hiruma regularly. She was right, and nowadays, he is gone for weeks at a time without warning, and reappears just as suddenly.

 

She’s on her way to interview for a teaching position when her phone buzzes with a text message from Musashi.

 

_Sorry for bothering. Are you free to babysit today, later?_

 

Her interview should end by four, and she replies so, but with a question.

 

_Yes, is Aika not feeling well?_

 

His response only half surprises her.

 

_Not my kids. “He’s” back._

 

So later that day, the three of them all meet at the bus station next to Kiyodama. When she approaches, the two men are suspiciously quiet.

 

“Good afternoon, Mamori. I’m sorry for the short notice,” Musashi says. The acquisition of a smaller construction business in Nishitokyo has taken its toll on him. Her old classmate seems even older now- not in years, but the creases around his lips are deeper, his smile slower to come.

 

On the other hand, Hiruma just looks like Hiruma. He gives her an annoyed look, but the edge of his thin lips lifts in a grin anyways.

 

“Hello! It’s been a while,” Mamori begins cheerfully. “Hiruma- where have you been? You’ve-“

 

“Old Man-“ Hiruma begins suddenly.

 

“I’m done talking about it,” Musashi growls severely, his voice so low in his throat it’s nearly inaudible.

 

“Hmph.” Hiruma turns away from him. “Fucking Manager.”

 

Mamori smiles. “You keep calling me that. It’s been years since I was your manager!” she teases, trying to distract him from his obvious sour mood.

 

Hiruma doesn’t respond, only shrugs. “You here to drag me to jail or something?” he scoffs.

 

“Mamori, thank you,” Musashi cuts in. He hands her a paper bag, his face relaxing into a tense, albeit genuine, smile. “For your trouble.”

 

Mamori peers in the bag, her eyes widening in surprise. “This is unexpected! Musashi, thank you.”

 

“I thought you’d enjoy it. Kariya’s new branch in Mitaka City. They’ve been making all sort of weird flavors- tell me what you think. These are rosewater and pistachio- I don’t know if they’re any good, but-”

 

Hiruma begins laughing hideously. “What’s this, you’re falling for this cream puff crazy?” he cackles.

 

Musashi gives him a stiff-lipped smile. “No, unlike you, sometimes I do things for people that don’t involve me _using_ them.”

 

Surprisingly, that silences Hiruma, who gives him a withering look.

 

Musashi doesn’t meet his gaze. “Thank, you, Mamori. I’ll be by the produce wholesale market later- let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Thank you,” she calls out as Musashi walks back to his truck. As he drives off, she turns back to Hiruma. “Don’t bother Musashi so much,” she scolds. “You know he’s been busy with his work.”

 

“Don’t care,” Hiruma says nonchalantly.

 

Mamori glares at him, until Hiruma drops his eyes and looks away. She sighs and asks, “How are you?”

 

“I was in a good mood until that ugly old bastard opened his mouth.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Mamori sighs. “Other than that?”

 

“I’m okay.”

 

  _Wrong question._ “Did everything go okay?”

 

Hiruma cackles. “Of course.”

 

Mamori sighs. Of course he was off on another ‘business venture.’ She doesn’t want to ask further about it. Instead, she begins to walk towards the subway station, waiting for him to follow.

 

“Where are you going?” Hiruma asks, watching her as she rummages in her purse.

 

Mamori hands him a subway ticket. “I bought these earlier. Sena told me to bring you, next time you showed up.”

 

Hiruma grumbles something. “Fucking shrimp.”

 

She glares at him. “You have to go. Don’t you want to meet Naoto?”

 

“I hate children,” he scoffs, yet he recognized the name of Sena’s newborn daughter, so he probably isn’t as unwilling as he seems.

 

“Let me text Suzuna that you’re coming. She’ll be thrilled to see you!”

 

“Doubt it.” Nevertheless, Hiruma takes the subway ticket and follows her down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Hiruma continues to make his sporadic appearances, but every time, his stays in Tokyo are shorter and shorter, until months go by without his return. Mamori isn’t bothered: by the time she gets home from work everyday, she’s too tired to do much more than shower, thaw dinner, and read a bit before bed.

 

This weekend, she’s been sleeping over at Sena and Suzuna’s house, lending the flu-stuck Suzuna a desperately-needed hand with her rambunctious children.

 

“Three’s enough, I swear I’m getting my tubes tied,” Suzuna exclaims tiredly. “No, Naoto- let go of Mommy’s-“

 

Mamori picks up the wriggling four-year-old with a chuckle. “Do you know what you’re having yet?”

 

“Sena wants it to be a surprise,” she explains, sipping another cup of ginger tea. Suzuna has never done well during pregnancy. It seems that the young woman gets the worst of every possible symptom- yet it hasn’t deterred her and Sena from adding a third child to their family. “But hey, Mamori, thanks for coming by today-“ she sneezes.

 

“It’s really no problem.” Mamori smiles at her handiwork- the kitchen is cleaner than it’s ever been under Suzuna’s inexpert care. “How are you feeling?”

 

Suzuna makes a face. “Pregnant, sick, and like a single mother sometimes,” she sighs.

 

“Huh? Why?”

 

“Sena’s working late again,” she complains.

 

“Well, he is a hard worker, isn’t he?”

 

“Yeah, but if I could just have a bit of his time, it wouldn't kill him, would it?”

 

“I’ll try talk to him,” she promises.

* * *

 

 

It’s a small group that celebrates Kurita’s 29th birthday. Komusubi, Musashi, Mamori, and Juumonji clink glasses. Everyone else sent their excuses: Yukimitsu too busy with his practice in Fukushima, Monta doing a gig in Hong Kong, everyone else with their lives. As usual, Sena is working overtime.

 

“It’s really okay!” Kurita exclaims. “It’d be nice if they were here, but- as long as they know I’m thinking about them, wherever they are.”

 

 _He’s too generous,_ Mamori thinks cynically, but he looks genuinely glad that his old teammates are moving around in the world.

 

The sushi restaurant is a small one, made even smaller by the presence of the five friends (more, if Kurita counted as more than one person). She squeezes in an empty seat between Musashi and Komusubi, who is eagerly passing around pictures of his soon-to-be-daughter, as soon as the adoption papers are approved.

 

“Thank God there’s Mima to teach her to talk,” Musashi comments, clapping the short man on the shoulder. “Congrats.”

 

“I’m so proud of you!” Kurita lifts up his former protégé in a bear hug.

 

Mamori smiles, and looks over to Musashi again. Takekura Construction is doing well, yet Musashi seems more and more stressed lately. She doesn’t ask him why. Much like Hiruma, if he needs her to know something, he’d tell her.

 

“It’s nice to know everyone’s-“ Musashi begins, but stops when his phone beeps. “Excuse me,” he says quickly, and glances at the number. Angrily, he exhales, presses “Ignore,” and shoves it back into his pocket a little too angrily.

 

“Oh, Musashi, if you need to talk a call that’s okay!” Kurita exclaims, as accommodating as always.

 

Musashi laughs. “No. It’s not important,” he chuckles. “Happy birthday!”

 

“Thanks- oh, I brought this cake- new recipe, taro and chestnut-“

 

“You baked your own birthday cake?” Jumonji asks, surprised.

 

“Well… It sounds odd if you put it that way but I wanted to make it to show you guys!” Kurita exclaims.

 

“But why taro?” Jumonji demands. “I mean, it’s fine but why with chestnut?”

 

“I think it goes together well!”

 

“Unn!”

 

“Komusubi says he agrees!”

 

“You guys think _everything_ goes with _everything-“_

 

Out of the corner of her eye, Mamori sees a troubled expression on Musashi’s face. “What’s wrong?” she asks in a low voice, pouring him another cup of tea.

 

 “Who do you think?” Musashi sighs.

 

“Not Hiruma.”

 

“Oh, it’s Hiruma all right. He knows I’m busy,” Musashi grumbles. “He’s awful. Always stops by when I have the most stuff to do.”

 

Mamori isn’t sure what to say, so she simply nods as if she understands.

 

“He’s too selfish,” Musashi comments, and as Kurita throws up his arms in a toast to the friends who couldn’t make it tonight, she thinks, _I am too._

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I’m leaving,” Hiruma says abruptly one day, as they’re walking along the streets full of warehouses and plastic nonsense. He’s still tanned from his trip to Izu Peninsula (he claims it was a vacation, but his overstuffed briefcase says otherwise). The tips of his ears where they stick out beyond the shade of his hat are sunburned, bright red and peeling, and she fights the urge to scold him.

 

“Do you have aloe vera gel?” she asks instead.

 

He gives her an irritated look. “I mean I’m leaving-leaving. I’m going to America for good.”

 

It’s the first time that he’s ever specified to her directly his plans, and as she slowly realizes, probably the last. “Forever?”

 

Hiruma blows a bubble. “What’s ‘forever’ anyways? But yeah. Leaving for America. For real this time.”

 

Mamori pinches her straw closed and inhales sharply. “Will you come back, to visit at least?”

 

“Doubt it.”

 

She shoves planner away a bit more forcefully than she intended, and the book skids across the table. “At least tell me why.”

 

Hiruma shrugs again. “It’s more fun there. There’s more to do.”

 

It’s an immature, almost inane statement, but she understand what he means. “You’ve thought about it?”

 

“Yeah. I’m off.”

 

Mamori is silent. There’s a lot she wants to say, wants to ask- _will I ever see you again?_ But she figures none of it is much good with Hiruma anyways. “Thanks for telling me,” she tells him.

 

Hiruma smiles, close-lipped.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s the only one there to see him as he boards the plane to America. Musashi was supposed to be there too, but he called the night before and cancelled, no reason given.

 

When she gets there, Hiruma shrugs at her as if they’d meet the next day anyways. There’s a lot she wants to say, and even more she wants to ask, but she feels like she already knows, on some basic level, why he’s leaving. America has always held a primal, magnetic attraction to Hiruma, ever since the first time they set foot in New York courtesy of the NASA Aliens. She’s seen how he looks up at the passing planes, the migrating birds, the changing of the seasons. And she knows how he won’t be back.

 

So when she meets him at the entrance of the terminal, she’s brought an unopened box of his favorite sugar-free bubble gum, Muscat flavored. “Here… I’m not sure if they have it in America.”

 

Hiruma takes it. The very edge of his mouth tips up into a smile- as if he wants to apologize for something. But when he sees that Mamori is alone, there’s a split second where he looks genuinely, truly, furious, the same expression of shock and disbelief that he has on the rare times that his plans are foiled without warning. But the moment is gone, and his sharp features settle back into his usual, devil-may-care smirk. “Fucking asshole geriatric patient couldn’t make it, eh.”

 

She looks at his luggage. There’s not much at all, just a large duffel and a taped-shut briefcase. She figures that she doesn’t want to know what’s in either of them. “Did you remember everything?”

 

Hiruma shrugs and turns around to start walking towards Gate D-5.

 

“Your jackets. Extra shirts- do you need to bring cookware?” Mamori asks, following him.

 

“Tch, I’m only bringing the things I can’t replace,” he says, looking back at the entrance to the airport. He’s deliberately walking slowly, and Mamori has to pace herself to slow down.

 

He stops by the coffee stand and pays for two coffees: one black, and one Vietnamese iced coffee with extra cream- her recent favorite drink.

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

They sip their drinks at the gate, standing by the window, even as the boarding call for his flight continues. Mamori keeps an eye on the clock.

 

“It’s eleven fifty. Boarding time’s almost over,” she tells him gently.

 

Hiruma’s eyes dart towards the entrance hall, and he clicks his tongue angrily.

 

Mamori knows who he’s looking for. “Hiruma… I don’t think…”

 

Hiruma ignores her until the final boarding call announcement.

 

“See you, Shitty Manager,” he sneers.

 

Mamori tries to smile. “Keep well. Stay out of trouble… Remember to get some sleep once in a while,” she tells him, and reaches up to adjust his jacket.

 

Hiruma’s smirk is gone. “You too,” he tells her. He turns to go, but pauses, reaches his hand out as if to shake her hand, or perhaps to pat her shoulder, but drops it. The ex-captain looks surprised at his own action, but scoffs. “Later,” he says as he walks down to the gate.

 

He doesn’t look back.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Life goes on. Mamori moves to a new place south of her old condo to be closer to her new job teaching English at a private school. Sena is promoted again, buys a new car for Suzuna, to fit their growing family. They celebrate that Saturday at a newly-opened French restaurant. Sena looks just as happy as he was playing football- it’s not the subject that matters most of him, but the challenge, the room to strive upwards and forwards. Even Kurita makes the four hour drive to visit, explaining that his wife is taking a day off work to take care of their toddlers.

 

It’s a glittering night. But the next day, when Mamori accompanies Suzuna on her grocery shopping, the other woman doesn’t seem thrilled.

 

“The car wasn’t what I wanted,” Suzuna says bitterly.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes her phone beeps at the oddest hours. Hiruma rarely sends her and words, only pictures, and never of himself- just buildings, scenes he’s passed by. They show a steady stream of his zigzagging progress across America, from New York, to Boston, to Dallas, back to Chicago- a timeline of his travels until he ends up in Los Angeles.

 

Her favorite is a picture of the Grand Canyon. It looks like a CGI landscape, and she prints it out and hangs it on her wall.

 

“Is that Mars?” Sena asks one day.

 

Mamori smiles. “It might as well be.”

 

* * *

  

As the years pass, she’s the only one who remains in contact with him. Even gentle Kurita has stopped trying to wheedle Hiruma back to America. He’s busy raising two children, and as he put it, “I wish he’d come back. But as long as he knows he’s always welcome here, he might.”

 

So on that day, it falls on her to bring him bad news. She stares at her phone for a while before sending him a one-sentence text: _I think you know, but Musashi passed away on Tuesday. I’m sorry._

 

He doesn’t respond, but she didn’t expect him to anyways.

 

A week later, she passes on a message.

 

_Hiruma, the funeral is set for September 25. If you can make it, that would mean a lot to us._

 

Kurita is taking care of the funeral preparations, but everyone else is pulling their share. Jumonji is frazzled as the reins of Takekura Construction are abruptly dropped into his hands. He doesn’t sleep, only leaving the company office to speak to the family lawyer. Suzuna, the local social media expert, is calling up old friends across Japan, breaking the news and sending out funeral invitations. Her fingers are smeared with ink and paper cuts from her organizer. To Mamori a task of a different nature falls. She comforts the bereaved Aika to the best of her ability, all the while trying to find a way to explain to Musashi’s toddlers why their father won’t be coming home.

 

She’s over at Kurita’s father’s temple, helping sort out the funeral plans, when she spots a familiar name. 

 

“Kurita?” Mamori holds up the attendance sheet.

 

“Huh?” The large man’s face is an overripe ripe from days of crying, but he’s insisted on officiating the ceremony anyways.

 

She points to the name: Hiruma Yoichi.

 

Kurita’s face stretches into a reluctant smile. “Hiruma always put Musashi’s name in the starting lineup because he knew he’d come back. Now it’s our turn to do it for him.”

 

Listening to Kurita’s heartfelt words, Mamori can’t help but believe, with ever fiber of her heart, that Hiruma will be there.

 

But he isn’t. There’s a hole in the funeral procession. Maybe she has read one too many dramatic novels lately, but she can’t help but feel they lost more than Musashi that day.

 

* * *

 

 

Even now, sometimes when her phone rings at night, she grabs it a little too eagerly. Sometimes it’s Suzuna. Sometimes it’s a wrong number. Always, she can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment in her chest. And every time, it takes more and more time for her to remember the reason why.


End file.
